


Love By Any Other Name

by Devereauxs_Disease



Series: Love Languages [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Not everyone needs to compose a sonnet Hannibal, Post Fall, annoyed Graham Cracker, different ways to say I love you, fussy cannibal, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Will doesn't say "I love you" the same way Hannibal does. That doesn't mean he isn't saying it.





	Love By Any Other Name

          “You didn’t come to bed last night.” Will stood in the kitchen, feet bare and eyes red. He’d spent all night waiting for Hannibal’s familiar weight to dip the mattress, only to stare at the door in the dark, straining his ears for any clue as to where the doctor was.

          “I did.” Hannibal didn’t turn around, busying himself with the dogs’ food.

          Will noted Hannibal had made coffee for himself but had neglected to pour a cup for Will. He used to wake up to fresh coffee and kisses each morning, now, Hannibal couldn’t even be bothered to pull out an extra mug. He knew Hannibal had been spoiling him after they fell into bed together six months ago. The doctor fussed over Will’s clothes, left him sappy notes every time he left the house, and couldn’t seem to be in the same room with the empath without nuzzling into his neck. Will had blustered at the attention, rolling his eyes affectionately and smacking at Hannibal’s questing fingers. 

          Every amorous assault was a silly imposition – until it wasn’t.

          Will had done his best to spoil Hannibal in return. He washed their cars regularly, added little improvements to the house so Hannibal would have better light for sketching and more counter space for baking. He had spent seven days bothering the older manager of the paint shop until he found a shade of purple exactly like the blooms of Hannibal's favorite flowers, so the dining room would be perfect. He re-tiled the shower when Hannibal fretted over the quality of the work. Will glared and groused as much as he could, trying desperately to keep the foolish smile off his face as he tried to think of new things to fix or make for Hannibal. Every night, he waited for Hannibal to drag him into his arms for a dance, fussing with embarrassment, but delighting as the doctor spun him around the kitchen island. 

          But, just six months into the life Will had just admitted he wanted, and it seemed Hannibal was done with him. The notes had stopped altogether. Kisses and touches that were stolen before were ignored when Will offered them freely. Hannibal barely even set the table anymore, forgoing skulls and flowers, merely shoving a plate and cutlery at Will as they dined in silence. Now, just as he had found comfort in Hannibal’s touch, Will was left in an empty bed and wondering what the fuck had changed in the past two weeks.

          “You didn’t come to our bed,” Will explained, as if talking to a small child. He could feel the rage creeping up his spine, making his head pound and his hands twitch for a weapon. He tamped it down, there had been too much blood spilled in kitchens for his lifetime.

          “I went to my room.” Hannibal began feeding the dogs one by one. As was his ritual, each dog had to sit and wait politely for Hannibal to nod before they were allowed to eat. Will’s cannibal believed in good manners for all creatures.

          “Your room is my room.” Will crossed his arms, feeling the cold of the morning air on his skin. This was the first morning he could remember that his appearance in boxers with ruffled hair didn’t earn him at least a kiss on the shoulder in passing.

          “I know my attentions can be onerous at times, you seemed like you needed sleep.” Hannibal turned to the dishes in the rack, carefully re-washing them rather than looking at Will.

          “How long do I have?”

          “I haven’t thought about breakfast yet, there’s plenty of time to-”

          “You know that’s not what I mean.”

          “When have I ever been so silly as to use obfuscation?”

          Will raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. “Just promise me whatever you do, you won’t hurt the dogs.”

          The plate Hannibal had been diligently scrubbing splashed back into the sink as Hannibal turned to scowl at Will. “Why would I hurt the dogs? They enjoy my company.”

          “No one enjoys you like this, Hannibal.” Will shoved off the doorjamb and stalked toward the doctor. “I don’t know what you’re planning, some bloody ending like Baltimore or just the humiliation you put Alana through, but I wish you’d shit or get off the pot, because living like this is fucking worse.”

          Will drew a paring knife from the block and presented it to Hannibal.

          “Not quite a linoleum knife, but I’m sure you can make due.”

          A spark of something flickered in Hannibal’s maroon eyes before dying. He pushed past Will and the knife, but the empath caught his dressing gown holding him fast.

          “Release me.”

          “No.”

          “Will.”

          “No.” He dropped the knife and pushed Hannibal to the counter. Will stepped back so he could glower, but was careful to keep himself between Hannibal and the exits. “You tell me what happened to the besotted fool who bedded me two weeks ago, and I’ll consider letting you leave the kitchen.”

          “It’s tiring playing the fool, Will.”

          “What?” Will threw his hands up.

          “I had hoped that once we consummated our relationship, you would learn to- but you still seem to have only the barest tolerance for my affections.”

          “So, you think I like you less now that we’re fucking?” Will worked hard to keep his voice even.

          “I've written you scores of letters, only to be unanswered. Vellum is expensive, Will, why throw any more of it away on a man who's so uninterested in my words?”

          “Cost has never been a concern of yours.” Will tilted his head, searching. “Why did you stop?”

          “Because I’m a prissy, pretentious, snob. Because I use eight dollar words to show off. Because I fuss over you and it’s annoying. Because you don’t want me pawing at you like some untrained puppy. Because I don’t know all the words to Freedom Bird. Have I listed all your complaints or am I forgetting one?” Hannibal pressed his lips together firmly. “I tell you I love you and you tell me the dining room needs new paint. I know you don’t share my feelings, Will. But I confess, it’s difficult to admire your cruelty when it’s constantly directed at me.”

          Will scrunched his brow, mouth falling open. “I don’t share your feelings?”

          “I delight. You tolerate.”

          “You unbelievable asshole. You really think- After all this time, you still fucking doubt me.” Will’s hand shot out, grabbing Hannibal’s wrist. He marched them out the back door to Will’s work shed, snagging the key off the hook as he fumed out the door. Hannibal followed behind, never commenting on Will’s bruising grip. “You’re supposed to be so fucking smart. The most brilliant serial killer in the world. The one that got away for every law enforcement agency in the world. But you’re not smart, are you? You’re just well read.”

          Will dropped Hannibal’s hand. As he fumbled with the padlock he turned to glare at Hannibal, who looked bewildered in his house loafers and dressing gown.

          “I make sure your car has fresh oil. I clean the gutters every fucking fall. I wipe the dog’s feet before I let them into the house. Christ, I replanted the garden in a different design this spring so you would have something new to draw. But you don’t see any of that, do you? No, you need a fucking flowery gesture.” The lock gave and Will shoved the door open. “So now, I’ve got to fucking humiliate myself so you finally get it.”

          Will stomped into the shed, stopping in front of a large tackle box. He could hear Hannibal creeping up behind him. He opened the box and pulled out the top tier. There, beneath the lures and fishing line were Will’s most treasured possessions. He stepped back while gesturing at the box, inviting Hannibal to take a look.

          For a few moments, Hannibal stared at the contents, head cocked and mouth pursed. Then, with gentle fingers, he began to dig through his relationship with Will.

          “A thumb bone?”

          “From the dealer we killed in Bogotá.”

          “Our first kill after Francis.”

          Will nodded. Hannibal rubbed the bone between his fingers before gently setting it down.

          “A sewing kit from a Motel 6?”

          “You used it to keep my face and shoulder together until Chiyoh could find us.” Will rubbed the back of his head, his anger slowly leaching from his body. “You taught me how to stitch that night, remember?”

          Hannibal smiled, placing the kit on the table and letting his hand graze against his stomach, where the scar from Francis’ bullet still resided. His eyes had gone soft, and though Will was still a bright shade of pink, he was smiling too.

          “Carl’s puppy collar?” Hannibal dangled the filthy scrap of leather in the air. “Where are Johann and Amos’s collars?”

          Will shook his head. “Still don’t get it? Carl was the one you brought home to me, Hannibal. Wrapped in your Armani sweater and soaking wet. I didn’t think he’d live the week, but you insisted he deserved a nice collar.”

          “As I recall, it was my sweater that didn’t survive.”

          “Good, you have too many damn sweaters.”

          Hannibal huffed a laugh before mining through the box. He produced a stationery pad from the Alvear Palace Hotel and raised an eyebrow. “We stay there frequently. When did you take this?”

          “You know.”

          Hannibal pressed the pad to his lips, his eyes fell closed. “The tango festival.”

          “Yeah.”

          “You didn’t want to go.” Hannibal smiled, eyes fond. “You fought me for days.”

          “I fought you for years,” Will corrected with an eyebrow lift. “But that was the night I finally stopped.”

          “Gave up?”

          “Gave in.” Will closed the distance between them, pressing into the cool silk of Hannibal’s dressing gown. 

          Hannibal’s hand curved around Will’s waist, his head dipping as he pressed his nose into Will’s hair. “It was a perfect night. Holding you in my arms on the dance floor, in our bed.”

          “The first of many.” Will sank into Hannibal’s chest. “But the reason I brought you here was this.”

          Will smacked a stack of 15 sheets of vellum, all clearly well thumbed, into Hannibal's chest.

          “You kept some of my letters,” Hannibal whispered, eyes shining. “And they smell of fish.”

          Will rolled his eyes. “I kept them all, you moron. The rest are in that box by the waders. These are just the ones I read the most.”

          “The most?”

          “When you’re on a trip, when I’m fishing, when you’re at the grocery store and I miss you.” Will was beet red, his eyes fixed stubbornly on his bare feet. Keeping his head down, he nudged Hannibal in the ribs with his elbow. “I care.”

          "You do.” Hannibal pressed the letters to his mouth, kissing the bundle. “Your love is fish scented, but true."

          "Is the smell going to be the only thing you focus on?" Will grumbled.

          “No,” Hannibal said while slipping the belt from his dressing gown and depositing the length of silk into the box. Will frowned at the action before Hannibal gathered him to his bare chest. “For your collection, to remember the first time we made love in your fish shed.”

          “You’re fucking unbelievable,” Will smiled, pecking kisses onto Hannibal’s jaw.

          “Hmmm,” Hannibal stretched his neck preening under the affection. “I shall remember you said that. Quick, where is that pad you stole. I should write this down.”

          “You ass,” Will bit Hannibal’s neck, pulling him onto the floor.

          “I love you too, Will.” Hannibal smiled, kissing his way down Will’s chest.

* * *

          Will woke stretching his hands over cold sheets. Hannibal’s side of the bed had been empty for hours, and Will dreaded the next three days with only the dogs and his mind.

          Sitting up, Will heard something rustle beside him and turned to find a vellum envelope propped on Hannibal’s pillow. Will smiled as he ran his hand over Hannibal’s beautiful script that read _For Your Fish Box_.

> _My Darling,_
> 
> _As you slumber beside me, serene and smelling slightly of wet dog, I find myself unable to disturb you. I shall miss the flutter of your lashes as you rise, and the content smiles you press into my shoulders with my morning kisses. I regret that I haven’t the courage to face that glorious assault, but who could leave such a magnificent creature when confronted with its full beauty?_
> 
> _Thinking of you brings to mind the words of Keats, Browning, and Byron, but I must confess I find my mind quite blank when I am faced with the reality of you. Such is your power, to render me weak with nothing more than a bramble of curls and a soft snore. I leave you now so I won’t be tempted to kiss you, to sink into your warm skin and consume you as fully as you’ll allow._
> 
> _Until you greet me with a snarl and a wrinkled shirt in three days’ time, I shall content myself with the thought of you reading this missive – perhaps beside your beloved stream, perhaps tucking it into your piscine box of treasures. There you shall remain, in my mind palace, surrounded by my written adorations and tokens of our love._
> 
> _I remain, your unrepentant ‘prissy, pretentious snob’,_
> 
> _H. Lecter_

          Will pressed the letter to his lips, eyes pricking as he blinked.

          “You ass.” He whispered into the ink.

* * *

          Will picked up on the first ring. He’d spent the entire day in one of Hannibal’s favorite Jackets, the folded vellum tucked into a breast pocket.

          “Steve? Is that you? I told you the old man’s gone, when are you coming over?”

          “Comedy is not your forte, Will.”

          “OH! Hannibal! Uh…it’s you.” Will grinned into phone, picturing Hannibal’s haughty sneer. “Look, can we make this quick? I’m expecting a call.”

          “Never let it be said that I stood in the way of true love.”

          Will couldn’t stop the laughter. “You may not have stood in its way, but you sure as hell dragged me into its path.”

          “For that, I won’t apologize.”

          “You never apologize.”

          “Do I need to?”

          “Only for that gross letter you left this morning.” Will slipped his fingers into the jacket, rubbing at the vellum.

          “Hated it, did you?”

          “The worst, I only read it once an hour.”

          “I miss you terribly.”

          “I redid the grout in our bathroom.”

          Will could hear Hannibal smile. “I love you too, Will.”

          “Oh, Hannibal?”

          “Hmmm?”

          “Check your coat pocket.”

          Will hung up.

* * *

          Hannibal ran his thumb over the phone trying to catch the remainder of Will’s voice. With his free hand, he dipped into his pocket, feeling a piece of paper and extracting it. The slip of folded paper was from the Alvear Palace Hotel, Hannibal smiled at the stationery. On the page, in Will’s sloppy hand were three sentences:

> _Hannibal,_
> 
> _Don’t do anything stupid and get killed. I’ll never be able to dust all your shit and the dogs will miss you._
> 
> _I’ll probably be sad for a day or so, too._
> 
> _~The Dog Collector_

          Hannibal pressed the paper to his nose, he could smell Amos and Carl as well as Will. He felt himself smile as he pulled out his phone.

          “Hello, Juan? It’s Dr. Verger. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I need something framed immediately…”


End file.
